


The Lioness

by DarlingGypsum



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Backstory, D&D, Extramarital Affairs, F/F, Fighter, Gladiators, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, Original Characters - Freeform, Romance, Star-crossed, Tiefling, Unhappy marriage, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8831782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingGypsum/pseuds/DarlingGypsum
Summary: Short story about the backstory for my d&d fighter, Vlida Aratesh:  her foolish leap into indentured gladiatorial combat, and her star-crossed affair with the wife of a powerful crime boss.





	1. The Menagerie

****

 

Vlida signed a five year contract with Kostav’s Menagerie in order to prove her mettle, earn fortune and glory in the arena. But more importantly, she needed to climb out of the shadow of her father, Emran Aratesh, the Great Lion.

As a child, she’d been minded only by her mother — her sister Zoya and brother Rabee had been married off years ago to ‘spread the family blood’. She shared her name with a dozen Aratesh children, all long since grown and proven their worth. Leaders, mothers, merchants, warriors. Vlida had found herself born just on the heels of The Great Lion’s death; an afterthought in a long list of legacies.

Despite inheriting her father’s remarkable stature and ghostly blonde, Vlida was dismissed as ‘little sprout’ by her half-siblings. In the ranks of the family — in the whole damn city of Bellkeep — people were expected to forge their own way. And the baby of the family wasn’t of use yet. Over the years, their indifference towards Vlida steeled into a ball at the pit of her stomach. Those with the good fortune to be born to House Aratesh were not allowed to be forgotten by history. And she vowed not to be the first.

The tiefling Kostav had made a deal with a young fool. Vlida had been too eager, too confident. She had never been in true battle, much less taken a life. Trained by private tutors and foreign boarding schools, her mind had been honed for strategy, for formal dueling. Not for the horrors of the battlefield. Not for the savage intimacy of gladiatorial combat.

Her introduction to the gladiator’s lodge was brutal. She had marched into their midst untested, untrusted. She was a child among warriors, one of few women in the barracks, and worse, a mere _human_ scuffling among the proud cursed children of Bellkeep. But she was bound to this place; Kostav owned her until her contract was fulfilled. Five years of gladiatorial combat to earn herself renown (no coin to speak of, though). Weeks faded into months. Training, pushed to her limits, beaten to exhaustion. Sent to a cold, hard bed in a locked room.

She had fled her family’s estate with no word. When Zoya and her mother finally tracked her down, deep in the bowels of The Menagerie, broken and homesick, she learned that her eldest half-brother Khadim had forbidden her any aid or support. Vlida, the ungrateful child, had been deemed a blemish on their family’s good name. Best left forgotten. That pit in her stomach hardened. She did not permit herself a moment of grief and has not spoken or sought out any Aratesh since.

She trained harder. Grew fierce, and harsh, and ravenous for the fight. After a time, Kostav finally seemed to acknowledge her potential, and gave her a slot in the arena matches. At last, Vlida would earn her place. Get the respect she had sweat and bled for.

Yet another hard lesson she had to learn about trusting Kostav.

“The Menagerie” was a bit of wordplay, calling to mind the variety and scope of combat entertainment that Kostav provided his audience. It also spoke of his history as a keeper of monstrous beasts: wild cats and vicious dogs, predatory birds with wingspans larger than a full grown man, large pack animals with tusks and fury in their bellies.

For five months, Vlida fought his animals for the amusement of the stands. She was an opening act, the entertainment before the ‘real’ fights began. Crowded in with a pile of fledgling gladiators to fight for their lives. Nameless, faceless fodder. The audiences howled as an animal tore into her side, or as she struck a killing blow. High above the fray, nobles watched ravenously, with the easy bloodlust of never knowing the panic and fire now familiar in Vlida’s chest. The constant threat of violent death staring her in the face.

Eventually, Kostav began to bill her as The Lioness. A cruel jab at her family name. Come watch the tall and lovely, vagrant child of House Aratesh bloody her hands with a beast.

The days grew longer. Sleep grew shorter. Exhaustion set into her bones. Vlida nearly lost a limb more than once. Necessity forced her to master her craft. Hands gripping a old rusting halberd, keeping hungry beasts at bay. Protecting herself.

Vlida became hard. Focused. Precise.

But soon, she snapped.

One night in the arena, she and the other beast-fighters were set upon by a monstrous snake. She watched a man’s head torn from his shoulders not ten feet from her. The blade of her halberd snapped during the fight — nearly did her in. But after a fatiguing bout that felt like hours, she ended the serpent with a jab of shattered metal to its eye. At the end of the match, Vlida was led back underground by her handlers, her legs barely strong enough to keep her going. They all but carried her backstage beneath The Menagerie, finally clear of the jeering, raucous masses.

Her brain was screaming. She was no warrior here. She was a cheap amusement. Fight after fight against wild animals, kept from earning her glory. Humiliated. Toyed with. She was already raggad. Eventually, she’d make her final mistake.

She was going to die in this place.

As one of her handlers reached out to restrain her, rage surged up like bile and Vlida decked him. Her bare fist connected with a satisfying crunch at his jaw, a searing pain along her knuckles. A few blows and choice kicks from the other two sent the air from her lungs and she crumpled to her knees. Just long enough for the men to secure the shackles.

 _“What’s all this, now?”_ A thick, sinewy voice laughed. She later learned the name Dixon Vostro well. That night, his wife Athalea followed behind him, eyes wandering casually. They were high rollers. Kostav had been giving them a tour of the facilities.

A rumble in her chest turned to a shout as Vlida strained against her bindings. One of the handlers elbowed her in the gut. _“Running high on the fight,”_ her attacker growled. _“The whelp will calm down in a bit.”_

Vlida was hauled onto her feet. She glared at the men clamped down on her, holding fast. Blood — mostly the serpent’s — slowly trickled into her eyes.

It took a moment to recognize that they were all chatting in Infernal. Smooth, liquid vowels and textured trills of the tongue. A seductive language. Many of her half-siblings were tieflings, and as far as her father had been concerned, it had just been sound business practice to ensure his children were fluent in the lingua franca of Bellkeep.

Dixon watched her, clawed hands braced at his sides. _“Where did you buy this one, Kostav?”_

Kostav, a bear of a tiefling, scratched at one of the horns piercing through his matted hair. _“Didn’t,”_ he sighed. _“She volunteered.”_

Removing a brimmed hat, Dixon crouched down low to meet Vlida’s eyes. His head quirked to the side. _“Why have you got her in chains, then?”_

 _“They’re afraid of me,”_ Vlida hissed back in Infernal. She met his gaze with a wild, mad smile. She could taste iron in her mouth.

Dixon returned it broadly, revealing a row of razor-sharp teeth. _“She’s brazen.”_

His wife Athalea remained at the back. Dark skin and raven black hair. Ashen rams horns curled back from her temples, framing her lovely face. Her shrewd eyes, completely amber like precious stones, were lined in thick sharp black. They seemed to shine despite the disinterested expression she had fashioned for herself. She held Vlida’s gaze too long to be convincing. Studied the blood smeared across her face too carefully.

Standing, Dixon paced a circle around Vlida, his forked tail whipping silently behind him. Studying her like cattle. _“Wouldn’t call her a whelp,”_ he mused at Kostav. _“She has some build on her. Why do you have her pecking at beasts, my friend? Surely a pretty one with such fire would draw plenty of eyes on the main stage.”_

Kostav let out a snort of a laugh. _“Too much trouble just yet. Cast off from a human house, my lord. Still thinks she knows better.”_

Dixon returned his attention to her face. _“What is your name, girl?”_

 _“The Lioness,”_ Vlida droned, her grin going lazy as she felt another cold trickle of blood slide down her cheek. She struggled, and another jab in the ribs sent his eyes rolling back.

The smile fell from Dixon’s face. His voice went brittle as it slipped into Common. “I said your name.”

She watched his eyes grow darker somehow. A man with the icy certainty that he always got what he wanted. Her throat went a little dry.

“Vlida,” she managed. “Of House Aratesh.”

For a moment, Dixon glanced back at his wife. Almost a question. Athalea lifted a brow, somehow shrugging with just her eyes.

When he turned back, the ice in his gaze had thawed some. “Do you have a sponsor, Vlida?”

She blinked at him. “Not yet…”

With a chuff, Dixon stepped forward to replace one of the thugs at her side. He slipped his arm into hers. “How about we discuss it over a drink?”


	2. Lotus Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Business proposals, and getting the lay of the land...

A caste system ruled The Menagerie. Each fighter was ranked and rewarded based on natural talent, experience, sheer size. But mostly by coin. The more money one had, the more publicity one could afford. Better equipment, training, and support. When one’s standing improved, so did one’s lifestyle. The most successful gladiators were indistinguishable from noblemen by all save for their brawn and proud scars.

But most fighters were slaves. They’d been siphoned off from the executioner’s block or the bowels of Bellkeep’s prisons. The more attention they earned in the arena, the more likely they’d be paid for fights. The closer they got to buying back their lives.

Vlida had given up her station and her freedom in Kostav’s employ, but more than that, she had lost her swell of naive confidence. The Menagerie was no game. Most who entered the arena fell to a blade with little acclaim or pomp. Another nameless smear of blood in the dust. Even the headliners could be just one bad day away from their end.

And Vlida had signed up for this life as if it had been a weekend getaway. She had sold herself into slavery without a second thought.

If she could court a sponsor, there was still a chance she could survive this.

* * *

 

The Lotus was a dark, luxurious tavern in the lower levels of the complex. It was here that duelists sold themselves to the highest bidder through flattery, drinks, and promises. The idle rich amused themselves with bloodsports and lightened their coin purses. Some sought to avail themselves for a few nights with beautiful, powerful flesh at a reasonable price. Desperate gamblers knew that if they could sink their claws into an up-and-coming star, they would all but guarantee their fortune. Rich criminals — and the criminally rich — stood to gain much from grooming a champion killer into their entourage.

That night, Vlida was unsure which kind of savior she was hoping for.

She followed on Kostav’s heels, her shackles clattering at her wrists. Before being paraded out for Dixon Vostro, her wounds had been hurriedly tended to, leaving only fresh scars across her skin. In the rush, she’d been bathed and clothed in clean linen. At least for once she’d go to bed not reeking like a sow.

They found Dixon and Athalea Vostro lounging in a private suite, isolated by a thick curtain from the rest of the tavern. Vapor and incense billowed up from searing coals in a brazier at the room’s center. Lounging on lush, cushioned sofas, the tiefling couple nursed drinks and took long, leisurely inhales of sweet steam. A rough hand shoved Vlida to sit down.

She bit back on satisfaction through her discomfort. It seemed that the mighty Kostav, ruler of his petty little kingdom of chattel and butchers, had developed a grudge. To think that Vlida, and not his more deserving and seasoned champions, had attracted this man’s attention. Kostav took a seat beside Dixon, quietly bristling.

Dixon smirked at her shackles. _“My friend Kostav seems to think that you will cause a fuss. I take it you enjoy fighting in all its forms.”_

Vlida stared him down from across the low table, holding a thin smile. _“I enjoy winning.”_

_“What do you do when you lose, then?”_

She shrugged. _“I get better.”_

For how many months she had spent among the lifers in the arena, Vlida had no compass when it came to courting a sponsor. Your skills and wins played a large part, she had learned, but the general attitude of the process tended to be: _Doesn’t matter how, just get them to like you._ Vlida had watched how some of the fighters went about it. The most successful were not above groveling at the feet of lesser but richer men, or complimenting to the point of nausea. Some even enjoyed a liaison with the odd rich widow or two.

One way or another, these people wanted to be wooed. And it was as much Vlida’s job to provide that experience as it was to win matches.

But she was not sure what Dixon Vostro’s interest was in her. He had apparently never noticed Vlida in the fights enough to take note of her. He didn’t care about her lineage, nor the Aratesh name. His expression flickered when her words were too sharp, or too clever. He seemed content to have her company for the evening, but he was happy to leave the shackles on. They chafed at Vlida’s wrists as she sat quietly across the table from him, listening to him amused himself.

Perhaps he was hoping for someone desperate enough to take a raw deal. He seemed enough of the type. A vulture.

The evening was passed on frivolous things. Avoiding the subject of sponsorship or money trading hands. She noted that Dixon Vostro enjoyed hearing himself talk. He boasted and prodded at Kostav, knowing that his money kept him in the good graces of the house. The wine continued to flow, and Vlida’s future continued to cast a shadow over this brief respite from her cell.

But it was more comfort than Vlida had experienced in a long time. The corners of her vision blurred from the heady scent of incense, her brain thick from alcohol, her stomach warm and full.

Eventually, Kostav and Dixon’s conversation wandered from the subject of Vlida’s novelty to other business, and she let her head slowly drift back against the cushions. Her eyes grew heavy as she watched the gentle current of vapor overhead. Lantern light reflected off the incense-laden steam, setting the room aglow. Clouds curled in on themselves, twisting and rolling into what looked like a little thunderstorm.

When a tiny thread of lightning flashed among the clouds, Vlida’s eyes perked up.

She shifted up in her seat, following the current of steam along the ceiling. Across from her in the room, Dixon’s wife was studying it as well, with a flick of a barbed tail and a hand perched at her temple. It took a moment to really notice in the dim light, but her fingertips danced, lips moving wordlessly with a smirk.

All night, Athalea had remained at the edges of the conversation. Saving her few words for complimenting her husband, for ordering more food and drink. Vlida couldn’t help but watch the quiet curve of her mouth. Always smiling, just enough. A woman well-versed in the art of melting into the background until it was her queue to be the most beautiful creature in the room.

When she met Vlida’s stare, those amber eyes brightened. Athalea’s mouth moved only slightly, forming words, but her voice did not fill the room.

_ <“Did I frighten you? It was not my intention.”> _

Tones of Infernal weaved through Vlida’s brain like silk. It was startling, and oddly intimate, as if Athalea was leaning into her ear to speak. The smile that followed the unspoken words made it clear that Vlida had noticeably shivered at the sensation.

Amused, Lady Vostro continued to mouth words, though Vlida could hear her voice clear as day. < _“My apologies. I could not resist, with you dozing off like that.” > _

Vlida vaguely shook her head and shrugged.

With a tapered finger, Athalea traced over her mouth and then gestured to Vlida. Her magicks would work the other way, it seemed.

Testing, Vlida whispered in Infernal under her breath. < _“It’s beautiful,” > _ she breathed out. < _“What else can you do?” > _

Athalea’s sharp teeth latched gently onto her lower lip, stifling a broader smile.

The flutter of a grin across Vlida’s own face felt foreign.

 _“Love.”_ The word was solid in Dixon’s cold tone. But his eyes were thankfully focused his wife's hands. Athalea’s little thunderstorm dispersed, and she effortlessly reached for her wine glass as if nothing had happened. As if her husband hadn’t just snapped at her for such a trivial thing.

Kostav muttered something low to Dixon, and the two men stood. On his way through the curtain, the fight master gripped Vlida’s shoulder with a hard smile. Her wounds were mostly healed, but she felt a fresh twinge claw up her shoulder and into her throat. Through clenched teeth, Vlida politely smiled back.

Dixon reached for his wife’s hand and pressed a casual kiss to it. _“I will be back in a moment,”_ he said, loud enough for both women to hear.

Vlida risked a glance up, studying the back of his head. She knew that tone. She knew a short leash when she saw one.

Before disappearing, Kostav snapped his fingers, and the tavern matron emerged to pour a water pitcher over the coals. Fragrant incense and steam plumed up from the brazier, filling the space and the silence left in the men’s wake. After a few slow inhales, Vlida lost almost all sensation of the sores at her wrists, beneath the shackles, and the sharp pain at her shoulder. Kostav must have ordered the more potent spices for the table.

“Would you prefer we speak in your mother tongue?” Athalea asked, now in Common. Her accent still clung to her R’s.

“If it pleases you, My Lady.” Vlida nodded, sinking into the warm aromatics almost as deeply as the cushions.

Lady Vostro leaned forward to refill their glasses. “It would please me if you would call me Lea.” She held back on her smile just enough to conceal her pointed teeth.

Mere steam now clung to the ceiling. The room seemed bare without the playful thunderstorm.

“Does Lord Vostro not approve of magic?” Vlida asked. She caught the forwardness of her question a little too late. “I’m...I’m sorry,” she managed. “It’s not my business.”

Lea waved her off, quietly straightening in her seat. “What little my husband knows of the craft is limited to circuses. Clowns. He sees only parlor tricks to entertain those with pedestrian interests.” Her voice was formal, and mocking. Clearly she’d heard this opinion often from him. She took a sip from her wine. “He finds little skill in it.” Her smile turned brittle.

“Rather fickle of him,” Vlida muttered. She caught an odd eye at that and clarified. “To mock entertaining the idle rich, and yet be willing to sponsor me to do the same thing.”

“He seems to make exceptions for bloodsport. You can’t be made a fool if your business is killing.”

“Killing, you can learn with time and enough bruises. But _that_ …” Vlida gestured to the ceiling, where clouds still dispersed. “That I could never do. You exceed me, my lady.”

Lea’s teeth gleamed.

Vlida hadn’t meant to flirt. Really. It had always been the easiest route to getting what she wanted. But Dixon Vostro seemed like a man not keen of attention he didn’t control.

“Should I take his offer?” Vlida asked.

Lea considered the glass in her hands for a long moment. “It is not for me to say.”

“He seems a dangerous man.”

“More than you could know.” A quiet sigh escaped her smile. “If we were to support you, Dixon would have yet another trophy. But it is a exchange, is it not? Meant to be at least somewhat equitable. He gets to groom you, add you to his collection. But what would you get out of the arrangement?”

“You haven’t done this either?”

Lea pushed one of the drinks towards her. Thick, luxurious wine. “This is my husband’s sphere, not mine. But I’m still curious. What do you expect from all this?”

Straining against the shackles at her wrists, Vlida awkwardly reached for the glass with both hands. “Security. Training. Money,” she shrugged. As she took the drink, Vlida let her fingers rest atop Lea’s. Waiting.

She slipped into Infernal for a moment. _“Is there...anything that you’re expecting, Lady Vostro?”_ If this was what they wanted in trade, perhaps...

Lea’s didn’t pull away, but her eyes flickered with recognition. “How often does that work?” she asked kindly.

Vlida felt her face go warm. “You tell me,” she breathed out with a chuckle. “This is my first time trying it.”

Biting her lip once more, Lea fought a smile. Her expression sobered as she focused on the chains gently clanging at Vlida’s wrists.

“Would you like me to request those be removed?”

“I don’t think Kostav would like that very much.”

Lea took her hands, studying the pink abrasions along her skin beneath the shackles. “So many here have honeyed words, for what this is. Killing for ‘sport’. For ‘glory’. For...how do they say…’The Great Game’?”

“Plenty of coin to be made, too.” Vlida offered.

“What are _your_ reasons?”

“I already said. I like to win.”

Lea held her gaze, still tracing the edges of the bruises. “No need to sell yourself. Not to me. It would not be _my_ fortune being spent on your training.”

Vlida’s eyes dulled as she stared at the smoke between them. “I have a contract. I fight when they tell me to fight.”

“Do you not wish to be here? Are you like the slaves?”

“It’s as Kostav said: I volunteered. He is very talented at convincing people of what they need.”

“You were deceived?”

“I was bored.” A familiar, bitter knot began to twist in Vlida’s gut.

A raucous laugh burst through the curtains and Vlida pulled back from Lea’s grasp. Itching in her seat, she pressed her shackles into her lap. She could feel Dixon Vostro’s eyes on her before he spoke, though she didn’t look up. _“My dear friend Kostav wishes a trial period of our arrangement. You are to be tested at higher levels. Solo matches. Duels.”_

That caught her attention. Legitimate fights? Out of the dregs of sloppy battle royales? For once, she’d able to stand on her feet and prove her worth. Solo matches would garner her exposure. Duels were where she excelled. What she had trained her whole life for.

Vlida stood from her seat and dusted off a well practiced bow. _“That seems more than fair, My Lord. I accept.”_

Keeping his gaze fixed on his new acquisition, Dixon gestured with an idle hand for his wife to join him. _“For now, prove my time has been well spent. If you show yourself to be a wise investment, we will continue our conversation.”_

Kostav had skulked back into the room, picking at something errant in his sharp underbite. It was hard to read if he was pleased with the arrangement, which would undoubtedly land him in more coin, or if he was just happy to be done with this whole business.

Lea smiled at Vlida from across her drink, finishing it as she stood. _“To your next victory,”_ she purred as she parted the curtain. _“This place would be the worse for your absence.”_

When they had gone, Vlida caught the faintest flicker of light from above, as one last illusory thundercloud rolled above.

That night, as Vlida lay back on a cold hard bed, staring up at the dark, she found that the knot in her gut had been usurped by the kindling of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? All reviews are appreciated. Suggestions/comments/critiques are welcome and needed!

**Author's Note:**

> Vlida artwork comissioned by http://www.giselepossatoart.com
> 
> Listen to my curated soundtrack for Vlida here: http://darling-gypsum.tumblr.com/post/153226840402/vlidas-soundtrack-lioness-character-playlist-for


End file.
